Letting new heads sprout from my chest,
Each cloaked in green—
Another way to give myself away;
Vicious dreams of a fever of wispy hair grasped
In my closed fist, attached to a pale head
Nearing death
Gathering alternate faces

Two doors behind me
Heaving behind the cobblestones
Ending the same as before

Put a vial of poison, half-full, and
Syringes, tick-tocking, into my basket
You believe me to be an illusion
Coming from somewhere else
How do I tell you
Orange walls are everywhere?
Leaving the psychologist’s
Office with my infinite masks and multiple personas
Guiding me onward
I question my memories
Staircases remind me of how I befriended radical thoughts
To show you
Something

Of course there are ominous bells
Fitted in the doorway
For someone to ring
Isolated in their thoughts
Crying in a hundred different mirrors
Expecting another one tomorrow